


Seal Point

by stefanie_bean



Category: Lost
Genre: Complete, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Flash Sideways Compliant, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefanie_bean/pseuds/stefanie_bean
Summary: Hugo picks up a surprising hitchhiker on the Pacific Coast Highway.





	Seal Point

Hugo winced at the late-afternoon orange sun as he swooped westward on the I-10. It was hard not to speed, because he loved the sensation of flying down the freeway. No interstates on the Island, and there never would be, not as long as he was in charge. So he was going to enjoy it while he could.

He was on his way to meet with a real estate agent, because Ben wanted him to buy property. A few more safe houses, to be specific. At first Hugo hadn't understood why the Others kept them all over the LA area. But now that Kate and Claire were living in one, he did.

Ben had liked this spread in particular: a ranch deep in the Santa Monica Mountains above Malibu. Some hippie cult had turned it into a retreat center, then abandoned it. Ben didn't even need to hint around, because Hugo was more than willing to go back to LA to take a look. Ben could hold down the Island fort just fine, especially under Rose and Bernard's watchful eyes.

Besides, junkets to LA gave Hugo a chance to visit Claire. He sighed a little, happy and sad at the same time. It was April now, three months since he'd become protector, and Kate and Claire had returned from the Island. Claire wasn't quickly snapping back to her former self, though. Not by a long shot.

True to form, traffic came to a grinding halt as Hugo merged onto the PCH. Well, that was Southern Cal for you. He slid a Grateful Dead CD into the player, and was soon rocking along to “Box of Rain,” joining the throng heading north to Malibu. 

Hugo's thoughts drifted back to the last time he had seen Claire genuinely happy.

*:*:*:*:*

It had been over three years ago. After Charlie died, a group of survivors had fled to the Barracks, where they were granted a week of peace before all hell broke loose. On the second morning, he had come across Claire and Kate hanging up wash. Bleached towels glowed white in the sun, and the two women laughed and chatted as they worked.

He wanted to wrap himself up in the sheets like he'd done as a kid. He wanted to wrap himself up in her. 

Flipping back and forth like wash on a clothesline, Hugo was torn between loyalty to Charlie's memory and his own feelings. He told himself that he was being a dick, because she was Charlie's girl, and Charlie had just died a few days before. But it wasn't that simple. In fact, it confused the hell out of him.

Seemingly out of the blue, Claire would give Hugo a dazzling smile. Shouldn't she have been in tears, mourning, depressed? At the Barracks, though, she seemed content. It could have been from living in a house, sleeping in a bed, doing ordinary things like laundry. 

Or maybe there was more. Sometimes he caught her glancing at him from across the commons. Or she would linger after one of Locke's meetings, and chat him up when everyone else had gone home.

It all blew up in their faces the day after Christmas.

On Christmas Day, Locke gave a dinner. Even though no one exchanged gifts, Hugo apologized to Claire for not getting her anything. 

At first she said not to worry, but then an idea hit her. “You know, ever since Aaron came along, I've never been able to sleep in as long as I wanted. It would be delicious, to just sleep.”

“I could do that,” Hugo told her.

It jelled into something real. “Tomorrow I'll nurse him first, then you could get him. Take him for the morning. If he fusses, give him a little coconut water. That would be an incredible present.”

“You got it,” he said, glowing with delight. 

The next morning, Hugo let himself into Claire's house without disturbing her. She nestled under a mound of covers, even though the morning was warming up. In a nearby basket, Aaron cooed and played with his toes. 

Early morning sun filled the room with a rosy glow. When the baby saw Hugo, he gave a happy squeal, and Hugo picked him up, reluctant to leave right away. He swayed Aaron back and forth in the “baby dance” and gazed down at Claire, who was lost in sleep.

If Hugo had known what was going to happen that day and all the sad ones to follow, he would have plopped Aaron back in his basket, crawled right under the blankets with her, folded her in his arms and never let her go. 

That wouldn't have been the most brilliant move, however. Her house would have blown up with all of them in it, Aaron included. 

Just as Hugo was about to exit, Claire opened her eyes. He stood there helpless, arms full of squirming infant. His face felt like it was on fire. When she turned her smile up to full wattage, he thought he would melt right there. It was the last time he had seen that shine in her eyes. Awkward, embarrassed, he beat a hasty retreat with the baby.

Some days you couldn't win for losing.

*:*:*:*:*

The Lexus in front of Hugo flashed its brake lights, bringing him back to the moment at hand. A light rain began to fall, and when he braked again, the Hummer skidded a bit on the oil-slick road.

As the rain picked up the pace, traffic slowed once more to a crawl. His bored gaze wandered over to the shoulder, where a dark figure in a navy hoodie and black jeans stuck out his upturned thumb. Some poor bastard was hitchhiking in the rain. Looked cold, too. 

Why the hell not, Hugo thought. The guy was small enough that he could handle him if things got weird. Who was he kidding, though? Even if the hitchhiker was twice his size, it wouldn't matter a damn bit. Hugo had his own personal version of “the Force,” and still wasn't used to it.

He tried to catch the hitch-hiker's eye, but the man's hoodie covered his face. With a grunt of difficulty, Hugo opened the passenger door. “Get in, dude. Hurry up, 'cause it's time to move.”

The dripping hitchhiker slid into the seat, his shoes squelching on the floor mat. Several loud, angry horns blasted behind them. “Hold your horses,” Hugo said. Back on the PCH and up to speed, Hugo turned to his shadowy passenger. “Where you headed, buddy?” 

The hitchhiker mumbled something drowned out by a generous splat of road mud, courtesy of a passing pickup truck. “Crap,” Hugo said as the wipers struggled with the yellowish goo on the windshield. “Didn't catch that, man. I'm going as far as the Mulholland turn-off. That work for you?”

“That'd be peachy. Couldn't ask for anything more.” The rough Mancunian accent came out a little gravelly, sieved through too many years of whiskey and cigarettes.

A sense of unreality filled Hugo like helium, with only the seat belt to keep him from floating away. His hands started to shake. 

On the whole it wasn't so bad, seeing and talking to ghosts. The first few seconds were the worst, because they reminded you that no matter how many times the dead visited, no matter how funny they were, or how clever they were at chess or checkers, they weren't like you. A canyon separated you from them, one you would never breach it until you crossed it yourself. It's not that they rubbed it in, or lorded it over you or anything. It was just how it was.

“Charlie,” Hugo said. 

“The very same, brother,” said Charlie Pace. “I thought you'd be happier to see me. We used to have such good times.”

“So where did you say you were headed?” 

“Seal Point.”

“Seal Point? That's past my turn-off, but I got time. Why, though? There's nothing up there but seals.”

“Sea lions, to be exact.”

Hugo smiled at Charlie. “So, is there a reason you were hitching on the PCH, instead of like, ghost-flying or something?”

“You've certainly gotten more direct, Hurley. Even confrontational, I'd say.”

“New job, new skills, man.”

“Too bad you didn't learn them sooner. You were a hard case, mate. Took me two years to get your sorry arse back to the Island.”

“Yeah, I was kind of an idiot,” Hugo admitted.

“So don't turn into one again.”

“What?”

“I'm here about Claire.”

Oh, brother, Hugo thought. “Look, dude, I know she was your girl. But—”

“But nothing. Not to put too fine a point on it, Hurley, I'm not exactly in a position to exert rights of ownership over Claire. Not that I ever was to begin with.”

“Aw, come on. You two were joined at the hip.” The cloud-burst of rain had passed, but up ahead, a sight-seeing Winnebago was holding up traffic. Hugo shifted uncomfortably and said, “The word around the beach was that you made her feel safe. That means a lot to a girl, especially with a new baby.”

“Hurley, did I ever tell you why I was in the middle section of the plane when it crashed?”

“Hey, all I know is that you were using, and then you got clean. Sure, you kinda back-slid when you found that heroin. But we all got a past. In the long run, nobody held yours against you. Especially not Claire.”

“Listen to me, Hurley. As fun as this is, I don't have much time. I was in the first-class lav, and had just taken a huge snort right before the plane broke up. On the beach, with the fire, the blood, the screaming, I wasn't calm. I wasn't brave. I was flying high, defying gravity, as the song goes. You could have lit a bomb under me and I wouldn't have flinched. 

“I had a week's worth of horse in my shoe, and believe me, I used it. It got to the point where all I could do was go, 'Wow, man, the colors.' Things had halos. Whatever the H did to me before, it was like the Island tripled it. The crabs were talking to me. Coconuts said 'Excuse me' before they fell off the tree.

“So what Claire interpreted as coolness under combat conditions was nothing more than the drug. You, on the other hand, were passing out food. Collecting blankets. Making sure Claire got fed. Assembling all the wallets and putting together a memorial. Do you know how jealous I was of you?”

It was the most ridiculous thing Hugo had heard, and he'd heard a lot in his time. “Man, you know my life. There is absolutely nothing to be jealous of. I mean, look at me.” He swept his hand down the whole length of his body, as if it should be obvious how he didn't measure up. Or measured too much, more likely.

“Oh, bollocks.” Charlie's irritation crackled in the air with ectoplasmic snaps like static electricity. “I saw how she held your hand right after the memorial service. Neither of you wanted to let go. I saw how you slept together that first week.”

Hugo blushed. “Dude, we did not sleep together. We slept next to each other.”

“Bumping bellies by accident, telling her that hers was so much cuter than yours, her disagreeing, and then you two having a tummy comparison contest. So charming.”

“What?” Hugo almost shouted. “You heard that?”

“Hey, watch the traffic! No, not then.”

“So what do you have, ghost-video on rewind or something?”

“Sort of.”

“Whoah, man, if people knew that, no one would ever take a shower. Or a dump.”

“Didn't the nuns tell you in catechism about how the angels could see you all the time, even in the bathtub? Or in bed after lights-out?”

“No, Charlie, nobody ever told me that.”

“Must be a Limey thing, I guess.” Charlie ran his fingers through his damp hair, then pulled up his hood. 

Hugo drove past the Mulholland turn-off. “Seal Point's not far ahead, Charlie. I got a feeling you haven't said all you came to say.”

“I know you always wanted to ask me, so I'll save you the trouble. Claire was never 'my girl' in _that_ way, either.”

“You mean you two... you never?”

“Bloody hell, Hurley, she had a new baby. And what happened to pregnant women on the Island provided a better inducement to chastity than Sister Robert Bellarmine's lectures ever could.”

“That's not happening anymore.”

“I know.”

“You do?” 

“Look, Hurley, I admit I was a complete shite. But never one so big that I'd risk killing Claire for sex.”

“I just assumed that—.”

“Well, don't. And don't forget that little business of the Island giving all the men super-sperm.”

“Like Jin.” Hugo shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation.

“Yes indeedy, like Jin. And me. And you too.”

The last thing Hugo wanted to think about right now was super-sperm, and not just because he was trying to watch for the Seal Point turn-off through the cross-traffic.

There it was, a gravel road which led to a promontory dotted with small rock formations and a few flat tidal pools. The sea lions must have had business elsewhere, because except for Hugo and Charlie, the beach was empty. Down at the shoreline, the sea slapped the flat, sandy shoreline with a constant rhythm.

“Charlie, I try not to think about Claire in that way.”

“What do you want, a special dispensation from the Pope? I want to see Claire happy, just as you do. You can play your 'Look at me' games all you want,” and with that, Charlie swept his hand along his own body like Hugo had. “Just don't use me as an excuse, mate.”

Hugo's voice came out small and subdued. “There's kinda something else. I don't deserve her, Charlie. 'Cause of something I did.”

Charlie gave a disgusted snort. “Sounds like you'd best go to confession. Because I'm sure as hell not going to absolve you.” Then his curiosity got the better of him. “So, what'd you do?”

Hugo hadn't told anyone but his father, and the humiliation still burned. “Damn it, I slept with Sun, okay? In Seoul.”

Charlie pushed back his hoodie, eyes wide with surprise. “Well, well. Didn't see that coming. When?”

“Awhile after we got rescued. Her baby was little, and she invited me to see Jin's grave-site. One thing kind of led to another.”

“What, at the grave-site? Way to go, tiger.”

Sometimes Charlie still was a “shite,” even while dead. “Later, at the hotel. I swear, I never would have if I'd thought— We both thought Jin was dead. Really. But he wasn't.”

Charlie's eyes rolled so far back in his head that the whites showed. “This is all fascinating, but what does it have to do with Claire? And don't take this wrong, but Claire didn't exactly have a virgin birth, either. People make mistakes, Hurley. You, me, Claire, Sun, everybody.” 

He grabbed the blue plastic rosary which swung from the rear view mirror and tossed it at Hugo. “This is your forgiveness, right here. But you grant it to everyone but yourself, don't you, Hurley? Let me tell you a little secret, mate. Refusing to accept forgiveness is a sign of pride. And here's the thing with the prideful: the bigger they are, the harder they fall, especially when they think they're 'special.' But you are Not. That. Special.” 

Hugo laughed from deep from the gut, so hard that his belly shook. “That's it? Your big secret?”

“Now you sound like the Hurley I came to love.”

“I love you too, man.” After all this time, Hugo finally managed to say it.

The two of them got out of the Hummer. Hugo breathed the sea air, trying to prolong the moment. He wanted badly to give Charlie a hug, but didn't dare. He had no idea what would happen if he did, and in all his years of communing with the dead, he had never tried.

Charlie gave him one long look of farewell, then said in sing-song, “Well, hello, I must be going. Ta-ta for now.”

“Later, dude.” Hugo said with a casualness he didn't feel, because something told him that he probably wasn't going to see Charlie again. Not this side of the grave, anyway.

As Charlie trotted down to the beach, his silhouette stood out like a paper cutout against the magenta sea. Without missing a beat, he strode into the water and kept going, until his form disappeared entirely beneath the sunset waves.

**Author's Note:**

> **(A/N: Hurley's affair with Sun is found in[“Queen of Air and Darkness.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806505))**


End file.
